Sharp Pause

A thin line of red—

against pale skin it catches light,

a sharp sting cuts through the slow

sorting of unopened mail.

Fingers hesitate,

a breath held tight,

words waiting on brittle pages,

a pain too small to shout,

but big enough to stop.

Paper’s edge slips in,

quiet and sudden,

a red bloom on the thumb,

a moment pierced,

then folded back into the day.